


sugar in my eyes

by apocryphic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 04:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/pseuds/apocryphic
Summary: "I'm sure there's someone who isn't me that's able to spend the next two days as your eyes."McCree's already got just the candidate in mind.





	sugar in my eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).



> i started this more than a month ago but it seems like i can only get writing done when i have classwork waiting on the wings :thinking: anyway. hewwo. welcome to the Very Niche McGenji NSFW Party, refreshments are by the door

"I have both good news and bad news," Angela says.

Sitting on the medbay bed, McCree squints at her, all the light bleeding into his vision only causing the headache pounding through his skull to worsen. "And?" he asks.

"Which would you prefer hearing first?"

"Dunno why you bother askin’ that anymore." Squeezing his eyes shut for a second's relief, he shrugs his shoulders. "Hit me with it."

He hears Angela's steps move away from him, and then the clatter of her rifling through a drawer. "The bad news," she says, "is that you will have to keep your eyes mostly covered for the next… let's say, forty-eight hours or so, while my treatment makes it through your system."

"That all?"

"The good news," she continues, coming closer, "is that whatever Moira's done is only temporary. It would run its course without any treatment, but I assume you want your vision back as soon as possible."

Angela presses cloth into his right hand, and McCree folds fingers around it, feeling out the texture. It's not the softest of materials, but it'll do. He reckons nothing in the infirmary is meant to be _comfortable_ , anyway. She drops a bottle into his other hand which he grabs tightly, unwilling to drop either and end up having to paw around for them on the floor.

"I suggest having someone aid you with these drops," Angela says. "From what you've told me of your vision, you would end up getting it in your nose as soon as your eyes."

"What, you ain't gonna help?"

"I have enough to do without babysitting you, Jesse." He appreciates that she at least sounds amused. "I'm sure there's someone who _isn't me_ that's able to spend the next two days as your eyes."

He's already got just the candidate in mind.

 

* * *

 

 

"Stop trying to pull it off."

"I gotta see to eat —"

"No," Genji chides, "you don't."

The warm bowl gets snatched out of McCree's hands. He frowns, the blindfold over his eyes blocking out anything that may give him a hint as to where he should look to really fix Genji with his disappointment. Agitated, he slides further down into the blankets on his bed.

"You would hardly be able to see your food anyway," Genji points out, which is annoyingly true.

"But I'd still have my pride."

Genji snorts disbelievingly.

McCree grumbles and opens his mouth when the spoon touches his lip, sipping down the broth. It's nothing more than leftovers from a few nights ago when he'd thrown together chicken soup for a sick Mei but it tastes like heaven right now, especially after being stuck in the infirmary for hours on end.

It isn't that he minds Genji taking care of him, really. He had _asked_ , and Genji's response had been simple enough.

("You want my help," Genji clarified, very pleased with himself somehow, and McCree wished he could see the smirk he could hear _so well_.

"Angie said I'd get 'em up my nose if I'd tried on my own."

"Sure."

And then Genji flicked the brim of his hat higher in silent appeasement, and McCree unwound just a little bit.)

The one time Genji spills the soup on him is his own fault for shifting around restlessly. McCree is carefully, obediently still after that. He doesn’t want hot broth covering his beard, if only because then Genji would get a napkin to wipe him off, and that would do nothing to help the helpless itch happening inside of his chest.

Genji asks him how many fingers he's holding up once he's finished eating, and McCree lets out a single snide _har_.

"You did very good," Genji praises, tapping the spoon against the bottom of the bowl to demonstrate how empty it is. "And with so few complaints!"

Genji pats him twice on the cheek, nonchalant as can be. McCree's brows twitch beneath the blindfold. It's nothing more than a little love-tap, the long familiar feeling of Genji's smooth palm against his dust-rough face, but it catches his attention more than usual. Makes that agitated fire in him burn out, little by little. The mattress moves under him, Genji standing up from the bed. There's the slow sound of his footfalls, intentionally made loud for McCree's benefit, and McCree bites back the _no, wait_.

"I'm trying this new thing," McCree says in late reply, suddenly and strangely aware of everywhere the blindfold is rubbing against his skin. "Called bein' less hard-headed."

"How is that going for you?" Genji asks, his voice distant as if his head is turned the other way. McCree tilts his chin in the right direction.

"It's goin'," McCree decides. He sits up, only to be barred with an arm over his chest. He stutters in a breath of surprise, grip going around Genji's wrist in a near instant. He'd expected Genji to be further away; he’s quick and quiet as ever, McCree supposes, but that knowledge doesn't do much for his racing pulse.

"Sorry," Genji says with little sincerity. Sounding playful, he asks, "Did I scare you?"

He takes a second to soothe his rabbit-quick heart. "Don't like this _not seeing nothing_ business." McCree drops his hold but doesn't take his hand off of Genji's arm, instead trailing fingers upwards, to his shoulder. Genji stays there, angling into the touch when McCree's hand finds his neck, and then his jaw. "You got on your helmet?"

"You tell me."

McCree grumbles and tests for it — it's his right hand doing all the seeking, but he brings his left hand up to settle on Genji's opposite shoulder to hold him in place. He's got a focused expression on, lips all twisted up in concentration. It doesn't feel right, not being able to see how Genji's looking back at him, or _where_ Genji's looking at all, or even what Genji expects from him. McCree's flying blind, quite literally.

The skin of his thumb brushes over Genji's eyelashes first, and he mumbles an apologetic sound as he sweeps his thumb beneath his eye, then along the curve of his brow. He cups his palm over Genji's cheek and feels where scarred flesh meets the start of his prosthetic jaw. McCree pauses for a second, wondering if the surface feel of it's always been so distinct, but it doesn't matter; soon after he's resting his index and middle finger against Genji's lip.

"If I didn't know better…" Genji trails off, kissing McCree's fingers and McCree's inhale catches for a second. It's subtle, but it's enough for Genji to take notice, and he feels out the lifting corners of Genji's mouth, tracing the curve of his amused smirk. "Really, now?" Genji asks, and McCree knows him well enough to hear the surprised edge of it, which is both charming (that he could catch Genji off-guard) and embarrassing (his own desires still catch _him_ off-guard).

McCree grins sheepishly and jerks back from the sudden pinch of Genji's teeth around his fingertips. "Hey, hey," he complains, inhaling sharply when Genji pushes him back down to the bed after all. "Can't help it. You got a special touch."

There's a curious silence, and McCree's breathing is loud to his own ears, anticipation like electricity all over his skin, and then —

"Time to give you your eye drops," Genji announces, and the weight on top of McCree leans over to the side, presumably to grab the eye drops Angela had given him from the nightstand. McCree groans and he feels Genji stall, but only to briefly shake with laughter.

McCree mutters nothing in particular, certainly not pouting as Genji's hand slides along his jaw, thumb against his chin — it's much too intimate a hold for something as innocent as helping McCree with his eye drops as he had earlier in the day but McCree isn't complaining. He tips his head up to bare his neck, but Genji moves his chin higher still. The heel of Genji's palm stays against his throat, and if McCree didn't know full well Genji was still playing, that would've given it away.

"Eyes closed," Genji murmurs. McCree squeezes them shut tighter as Genji pulls the blindfold away with his free hand.

No pain kicks up, no light bleeding through. McCree's silent question is answered a second later when Genji explains, "I can see without your lights on. I thought that would be best, blindfold or not." He feels Genji prop the eye drops tightly between his knee and McCree's side, the glass bottle cool even through his shirt.

"You thought right," McCree says, relieved and terribly overwhelmed by the fact that Genji is _this fucking good_ at taking care of him. Helpless Jesse McCree, being nursed back to healthy vision, being spoon-fed _soup_.

Not that this whole thing isn't biting at his rattled pride something awful. He would rather lose his other arm than his eyes; letting somebody else lead him in the simplest of tasks grates on him and his patience alike.

Genji moves his hand from McCree's jaw to his scalp, tugging a bit at his hair to keep him still (and attentive), and McCree wets his dry lips.

The whole thing could be worse, he decides.

"Open," Genji says, calm.

So he does. McCree opens his eyes and while his head pangs and his vision swims, there's no intensity to the pain. All the aching is muffled, and he's viciously grateful for Genji's foresight in keeping the lights off. He relies on tactile hints to know which eye the drops are going into. Genji hums approval when McCree doesn't flinch away like he had the first time they'd done this, and after each eye Genji kisses either side of his brow.

It's a fast affair. McCree blinks a few times as Genji puts the drops away, his grimace not quite as pronounced anymore. Genji presses the blindfold back over his face and makes it taut. "There," he says, satisfied.

And then he pats his cheek again, like it's nothing, and McCree feels like he might just combust on the spot.

Genji turns his head this way and that, thumb fixed under the soft part of his chin, just beneath the center of his jaw. McCree's breaths are almost too loud for his own ears, but he remains obedient, even as Genji's other hand pulls at his beard hard enough to make it sting, tilting his head up yet again.  

"What're you doing?" he asks eventually, nearly breathless, and that's flustering on its own.

"Making sure the blindfold won't slide off."

"Liar," McCree accuses, and is rewarded with a soft laugh. Genji replaces his hand on his neck with his mouth, so McCree seizes his chance and gets his arms around him, ensuring that he's not going anywhere anytime soon. "You damn _liar_."

Genji bites him, and it's so unexpected that McCree jumps and huffs out his breath afterwards. He feels the smile against his throat, the press of teeth followed by another kiss, this time gentle.

"What do you want?" Genji asks not entirely unkindly, lips skating over the edge of his jaw. Just when McCree leans into it, he pulls back and away. McCree itches with just-untouched desire.

"Moot question at this point, don't you think."

Genji pokes unforgiving fingers into his side, and McCree can imagine how much Genji revels in the way he jumps. "That is a cop out if I've ever heard one."

McCree can't quite form the words; he wants plenty of things, wants Genji most of all (but that would be considered a cop out, too), wants one specific goal in several varying, all equally nice ways. It doesn't help that Genji's sliding his hands under McCree's shirt, exploring the skin beneath. McCree can't begin to guess what Genji's aiming to touch — he's keeping all his motions unpredictable, and without being able to _see_ , it's near impossible to know.

(And a little exciting.)

"I won't know what to do if you don't tell me what you want," Genji says innocently.

McCree feels fingers slip _just_ under the start of his sweatpants and he swears. "You're still lying," he says dryly. He arches his hips up just a little, _trying_ — and Genji moves his hand back. "You know damn well what I want."

"I don't think I do." Genji's weight settles more heavily on top of McCree's thighs. McCree _aches_. "I didn't expect that you would want anything at all." There's the lightest pressure at the meeting of the blindfold and his cheek, the softest touch.

Undeterred, McCree turns his head and kisses what turns out to be the tips of Genji's fingers. "Neither did I," he admits a tad ruefully.  

Genji only makes a small noise of understanding, but then those fingers are pressing against his mouth and McCree's face flushes hot, lips parting beneath the touch. It's easier without the blindfold, when he can focus on how Genji looks in front of him, on top of him, anywhere — but with the blindfold, he can't help but picture what _he_ must look like, startlingly hyper-aware of himself.

"So," Genji says, hand on McCree's face disappearing to toy with the top of his pants. "What do you want?"

Heart beating too fast, skin hot all over, McCree bites the inside of his cheek until it hurts. He feels Genji ruck his shirt up, the cooler air in the room doing nothing for him.

So he focuses elsewhere; he follows the armor pieces up Genji's back with his hands. He listens to the drag of a metal hand against the metal armor, and pushes his other fingers into the edges until he feels the imprint there. Genji lets him have his fun, and laughs as McCree stubbornly begins prying off piece after piece.

"Well?" Genji asks, a quiet breath taken when McCree gets fingers between some armor and his thigh. He can only imagine the satisfied glitter to Genji's eyes.

"I'm gettin' to it, hold your horses," McCree mumbles.

And then his hands are being pulled away, Genji's grip around his wrists gentle but unyielding, and McCree's stuck there. It's in a quick enough movement that he's left bewildered for all of a second; then his brain catches up after his body, which is taut with the surprise of being unexpectedly pinned.

He forces himself to relax in increments before he starts, his heartbeat going quick again, "What —"

"You are so good with your hands," Genji murmurs. The back of McCree's neck heats up; he doesn't have to finish the thought, McCree knows what it would've been — _you're good with your hands, but I want you to say it._

He stifles a noise when he feels Genji's hips press into his, a little rocking motion that drags a longer exhale from his lungs. It's a surprise when Genji's lips find his, when he's kissed open-mouthed and precise. Genji knows exactly how to take him to pieces, knows how to turn the fire under his skin from want to need, and McCree's breaths have turned to gasps by the time Genji moves his lips to his ear.

"Genji," McCree rasps, feeling like he’s walking a tightrope, tipping off the side of it.

It's when Genji frees his wrists, gets his hand into his pants again, touching him with abrupt generosity, that McCree knows his willpower is about to snap in half. There's blossoming hope when Genji lets him move up against the point of contact, allowing him his relief, _just like that, please,_ but moments later and Genji's drawing his touch away again. McCree barely bites back his noise of impatience, grip tensing where he's put his free hand on Genji's waist.

" _Please_ ," he breathes with uncharacteristic sweetness, turning his head to kiss Genji's cheek, and then adjusts his aim and brushes lips against Genji's jaw instead. McCree shifts his hand from his hip to his front, finds the inside of his thighs, and thinks maybe he's won when he hears a softer sound of interest — but then his wrist is caught once more and held down to the mattress.

"Trying to turn it around on me," Genji muses. He rubs the soft part of McCree's wrist, sweet.  "Cute."

Whatever's left of his determination crumbles, desperation taking hold.

"Fuck me," McCree says quickly. His eyes squeeze shut under the blindfold, heat rising in his cheeks. Genji's thumb stops moving against his wrist. "Just — want you t'fuck me, s'what I want. That spelled out enough for you?"

The hold on his arms disappear, then Genji flicks his nose. "Plenty," he says, entertained.

"Appreciate it, sugar," McCree drawls dryly.

Any leftover irritation dissipates the second that air hits bare skin. McCree raises his hips to let Genji pull his bottoms the rest of the way down, massaging either of his wrists in the meantime to take his mind off of the frenetic want dancing up his spine. He hears the clasps of Genji's remaining armor as Genji disrobes to the best of his ability; McCree startles when cold, wet fingers press between his legs, makes him hiss between his teeth.

"I didn't want to keep you waiting," Genji explains, sounding only partially apologetic.

"Bet you just like making me jump."

"Mm. That, too."

McCree's nice — and admittedly needy — enough not to call Genji out for the way his voice is all airy and short, like he's trying to keep himself together as much as he's trying to satisfy McCree. McCree trembles, pushes back against Genji's fingers with a gasping breath, finding the oxygen not nearly sufficient all of a sudden. Genji's not teasing anymore, no; his head drops back against the pillow and he bites his lip until he tastes blood.

He imagines what Genji must look like: lips parted, maybe, his quick eyes taking McCree in while his fingers work him. Leaning over him, or sitting further back. That's the problem with Genji, McCree thinks; he can be so still that even though it seems like he should be able to _feel_ him, blindfold or not, he has no idea where he needs to pay attention to. Genji is probably doing it on purpose. McCree finds he doesn't mind it near as much as he had earlier.

Genji moves fingers into him just right, and all coherent thoughts burn out of McCree's head in an instant. He hears Genji laugh at the noise he makes, something victorious and pleased and affected, too, and McCree can't be bothered to be embarrassed just yet, not while chasing pleasure. He'll be embarrassed, _mortified_ , later, but right now — right now it's just a little more, heat building up, muscles all tight.

Then the fingers are gone and McCree mourns the loss for all of a second before Genji's turning him over with an ease that only serves to fan the flames. He's quick to spread his legs, quicker still to lower his chest flat against the mattress when Genji's hand pushes between his shoulder blades. His shirt's shoved up as high as it can go, and he'd take it off, but, _but_ …

Genji's touch drags down his back and he's distracted by it, and then he's all too focused on the tight hold that finds his hip. McCree breathes like prayer, "C'mon _,_ c'mon —"

Genji pushes into him and McCree's body goes tense and falls relaxed right after, the taut hold of his shoulders lessening as Genji uses his free hand to massage at the nape of his neck.

"Okay?" Genji asks, holding there only when he's pressed flush to him. Teeth nip at the curve leading down to McCree's shoulder and all the air leaves his lungs at once.

"Could be better," he huffs out, then rests his cheek against the pillow.

McCree yelps in a supremely undignified way when Genji shoves two fingers between the blindfold and his hair and yanks his head back.

"Still okay?" Genji repeats, breathless, and pulls away only to push forward again, driving heat through his body.

"Fuck," McCree wheezes. " _Yes_."

Genji sets a fast pace that leaves McCree free to dig fingers into the sheets. Some still-logical part of his brain reminds him not to pop holes into the mattress with his metal hand, but his ability to care is shot. He groans aloud and Genji snaps hips forward in response, the grip on McCree's hip holding tighter and tighter still, until he reaches to McCree's front and gets a loose hand on him instead. There's no room for patience, no space left for fleeting touches, and McCree thrills silently that Genji leapt into indulging him just as the desire had grown unbearable.

It doesn't take long after how wound up he'd gotten; McCree finishes with a choked cry, knees barely supporting him as Genji goes for a few seconds longer. Half-dazed and sexed-out, McCree slumps to the mattress, panting, though he hums as Genji lays against him, little shivers going through his body as he heaves for his own breath.

Genji lets go of the blindfold. McCree's face hits the pillow with a soft _thump._

"Mmmfgh," he says with all the feeling he can muster. Genji pats his side and, in the process, rubs something wet all over his skin. McCree can make a few guesses. He turns his head to add more clearly, "Thanks for that."

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but he's still floating high from a good time, so it comes off far more sincere than he intends. Not that Genji is thrown off; he rubs his cheek against McCree's neck and kisses him with absurd tenderness.

Eventually, McCree manages to roll over, pushing Genji away enough that he can take off his shirt and wipe himself down crudely. Genji tells him he missed a spot, so he hands the shirt over to him and says _you do it, then_ , and Genji does, while surely amused. He musters himself while Genji disappears from the bed to presumably burn the shirt that he probably can't wear in public ever again.

He feels the mattress move as he returns, and then the lazy flop of Genji's entire body knocking the air from him.

"I was thinking," McCree says, tilting his face in Genji's direction to seek out his lips. Interrupting himself with a kiss, it gives him a moment to clear his head, and he finishes, "Let's keep the blindfold around, maybe. Once my eyes're all back to normal, I mean."

Genji pauses, then begins tugging McCree closer. "Yeah?"

"Wouldn't mind bringing it out on occasion."

"Well, then." He nuzzles into the crook of McCree's neck, nosing along his jaw. "I'll consider it."

 


End file.
